salad jerk
by dreamembers
Summary: Seth likes to live his life sticking to the same mundane routine. Dean takes it upon himself to change all that.


_**Finally**_ **getting round to this. You might've read this over on AO3, just decided to post my work here too!**

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Seth catches the same bus every day. It's just one of his many routines that never, ever, alters. His friends all too often make jokes and jibes about his monotonous lifestyle but Seth just replies with a shrug and a smile – he's happy enough. He doesn't need a life filled with excitement and adrenaline like they do. He doesn't understand why people seem so surprised when he tells them that a one-night stand with a stranger in the bathroom of some darkened bar isn't his idea of fun.

If he's ever going to settle down in a relationship, it'll be with a guy who has the same need for routine as him, someone who won't beg him to call in sick so they can go on random adventures, someone who he can have a proper adult relationship with. His friends, they all want the excitement of a teenage fling, with hearts racing as they run around in the middle of the night. Seth, he's done all that. He's ready for something... more mature, more meaningful.

There's a guy he works with, a nice guy, who always wears nice suits and is never seen with a hair out of place. His name's Damien. Damien Sandow. They've been – or they had been until this morning – dating for just over three months. Last week they went out for a meal at a highly rated restaurant for Seth's birthday and it was... nice. Damien is highly educated, with a vocabulary that could make an instruction manual read like poetry, and he has high ambitions for himself, but. But there was a nagging in the back of his mind telling him that he wasn't _it_ , that he needs something _else_ , something _more_. It's strange and completely infuriating because there's Damien, everything he thought he wanted in a partner, but he still wasn't content.

As the door is pushed open and the bell above it rings, Seth looks up from his salad with casual curiosity, groaning when the walking talking _personification_ of strange and completely infuriating steps into the cafe. Seth averts his gaze as the guy walks past him and towards the counter where he orders some coffee with a strange name that probably contains way too many calories, and a large portion of fries. Not only does the guy seem to play eenie-meanie-minie-mo to settle on his beverages, he's also apparently content with eating his way towards a lifetime of chronic heart problems.

The man- no, the _guy_ – Seth can't call him a man, not when he's dressed in a pair of battered jeans, an off-white tank top and a leather jacket. A man is sophisticated, holds himself in high regard, and looks after himself. _The guy_ is none of the above and thus has not earned the title of 'man' – the _guy_ always enters the cafe at the same time as Seth, and, much like Seth, he has his own routine.

The only reason Seth's really noticed him is because he always sits on the table slightly adjacent to Seth's. The guy will stare at him intensely, more often than not making Seth feel extremely uncomfortable. So Seth will cast his own glances towards the guy, just to see if he's still looking. Not because he's intrigued by the guy, and most certainly not because the guy sometimes comes in looking adorably dishevelled.

Seth drops his head once more when the guy turns from the counter, drink and fries in hand. The cafe is surprisingly busy today, Seth notes as he stabs at his lettuce, and the guy's table is occupied. Hopefully that means he'll- _oh no. Please, no._ Seth watches as a coffee and portion of fries are placed down on his table, and there's the sound of a chair scraping across the wooden floor. Then the guy is in his line of sight, grinning.

"Don't you ever get bored of doing the same thing every day?" Is the first thing the guy says to him. His voice is low, all scratchy and rough like the old vinyls gathering dust in his Dad's basement – it's everything and nothing like he expected. Not that he's ever wondered.

Definitely never wondered.

The question, none the less, makes Seth frown, lifting his head to level the guy with an incredulous look to ask, " _what_?"

"Don't you ever get bored? Y'know, having the same routine? Come in, order a nasty lookin' green smoothie and a boring-ass salad, sit at this table, check your phone, eat salad, drink smoothie, check phone, leave," the guy shrugs, hand reaching out to grab the salt. Seth feels sick just watching the guy shower his fries in the stuff, "I dunno. Don'tcha ever wanna change it up a bit?"

Unsure how to respond, Seth blinks once in shock. Then once more in disbelief. There's something within Seth that feels (flattered? Is it even something that you can be flattered _by_?) that the guy has taken the time to remember so many small details about his routine – a routine Seth hadn't even noticed until now. But, at the same time, it's slightly disconcerting. And why in the hell is this guy, of _all_ people, trying to give Seth advice?

" _Change it up?_ Like the way you just buy any random God-awful drink without even considering the undoubtedly staggering number of calories inside? Also, you always buy fries, so at least I always buy something that won't send me to an early grave. And you always sit at the same table, you can't honestly judge me based on that," Seth leans on the table to point an accusatory finger at the guy, "and you _always_ stare at me. Don't you have anything better to do?"

The guy smirks, "seems to me you've been doing a lot of staring yourself." Seth can feel the heat as it begins to rise up his neck to undoubtedly colour his face a bright shade of red. It wasn't- he didn't- he wasn't _staring_. He just. Happened to notice. By watching. _Carefully_.

"Well... you started it, asshole." He grumbles, using his fork to push a couple slices of tomato around the container. He can't think of anything else to say really. He prides himself on being such an educated man yet here he is, muttering insults under his breath like a grumpy teenager. At least the guy is able to find some humour in the situation. Asshole.

"My name's Dean, actually, but I guess asshole works too. What's yours? Or should I just call you salad jerk?"

"You should just call me salad jerk."

Dean nods, shoving a couple fries in his mouth, "alright," he swallows, still nodding, "how'd you fancy giving me your number then, Mr. Jerk?"

Seth splutters. Did he just hear that correctly? Did. Did the guy, Dean, asshole, whatever his name is, did he just ask Seth out for his _number_? Just like that? Seth finishes up the last of his salad and takes a sip of his smoothie, doing everything he can to put off having to answer. He doesn't want to... or, maybe he does. But only a bit. Only because there's something inside him that wants to talk to Dean for a while longer. Only because there's something about the guy in front of him that's been scratching and clawing and eating away at Seth since the first time he saw him all those months ago. He hates it, and hates to admit it, but he can't deny it.

Seth shrugs, allowing his eyes to flicker back up to Dean's face. He's greeted by a smile. A real, honest to god smile. The guy even has _dimples,_ and Seth is smiling back before he can even think to catch himself, "will it stop you staring at me?"

"And why would I want to do that? I kinda really like looking at you."

Seth groans, "you're supposed to be a jerk. Stop being nice." ( _You're not supposed to be my type. Stop making me like you.)_

"You're the jerk, I'm the asshole, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he's grinning, Dean's grinning, they're both grinning. They must look like the biggest pair of idiots in the cafe, and strangely, Seth isn't too worried about maintaining the image of smarmy and cocky businessman that he's been building for years, "and, for the record. My name's Seth."

"Seth." Dean repeats, as if he's testing it on his tongue. Meanwhile Seth checks his phone and curses – his lunch break's nearly over.

"Hey, sorry, I gotta go," he gathers his things and stands, "maybe... uh," Dean's looking up at him expectantly, eyes screaming with mischief and adventure, and Seth finds himself being sucked in by them, "maybe we could meet for lunch tomorrow? I might give you my number then, if you play your cards right."

Dean nods, a smirk playing on his lips as he promises, "see you tomorrow, Seth." Then Seth is offering a parting wave as he heads back to work.

The next day, Dean is sat at Seth's table with his usual portion of fries and coffee. On the other side of the table, in front of the empty chair, is a salad and green smoothie. Dean waves him over with a wide smile. Maybe, just maybe, the rough-and-tumble guy sat in front of him, talking animatedly with his hands, is just what Seth's been looking for this whole time.


End file.
